


should I stay

by 100hearteyes



Series: we were built to fall apart (then fall back together) [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Christmas Eve, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 11:24:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9121393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/100hearteyes/pseuds/100hearteyes
Summary: 12 hours is all it takes for Lexa and Clarke to realize they belong together.A Clexa Christmas AU.





	

**Author's Note:**

> An anon asked me — a long, long time ago — to write a one-shot based on the song Can't Help Falling In Love. I didn't forget! So here's the result, with Christmas thrown into the mix :) enjoy!

**MIDDAY**

“No, yeah, I understand. You really don’t—“ _want me there for Christmas._ “You don’t have enough food for ten.”

“Yeah,” comes Raven’s strained voice. “We only really planned for nine. Sorry, Clarke.”

“No, it’s— it’s ok. I get it, nine is a much easier number to plan for than ten. It’s ok.”

“Ok.”

“Well, I guess, then… Merry Christmas, Raven.”

“Thanks, Clarke. Merry Christmas.” The line goes dead.

As you grow up, people love feeding you those idealistic formatted phrases for inspiration. Life is beautiful, everything happens for a reason, friends are forever, your true love is right around the corner. Clarke used to believe those things.

That was, of course, before her own life fell apart. Then she realized that there really is another ways to go but up. Down, down, down, ridiculously past rock bottom and all the way to the very center of the Earth, where you can literally go no lower.

Only hurried or sad souls remain at the airport; only one is miserable enough to have had her trip denied at the last possible second. They don’t want her there. Fine, she can have her own Christmas Eve. On her own, with zero guests and co-hosts. Come to think of it, she should probably get herself a present. Either that, or open the ones she bought for her friends.

Come to think of it, her mom is first and last on her list. She has no one except her friends, who decided that she’s too much of a fuck up and cut her from the group.

She means to heads home, tired of the blinking airport screens reminding her of her failure at the most basic things in life.

As Clarke reflects upon her sad existence, body unmoving from the uncomfortable airport chair she has occupied for the last twenty minutes, someone sits beside her, surprisingly mindful of her personal bubble.

She chances a look at the invader, who specifically took the seat next to hers out of a sea of vacant chairs. All breath and bad opinions catch in her throat when her eyes find a chiseled jaw, high cheekbones, pouty lips, and a mane of brown curls studiously reading what must be an absurdly compelling book.

“ _Big Breasts and Large Hips_ ,” she remarks, making conversation for a reason not even she can come up with. “Harsh, but I liked it.”

Her seat companion peels her gaze off the book to look at Clarke, and the blonde swears she dies for a second when deep, clever viridian eyes meet hers. “I do not believe the purpose was ever to be gentle about it,” the woman comments, in carefully enunciated words.

“It would’ve been feasible. Harshness and gentleness are not mutually exclusive qualities,” she notes. “You can possess both.”

The woman scoffs, but extends her hand to Clarke, eyes dancing with something akin to affectionate respect. “Lexa.”

Clarke takes her hand and long fingers wrap around her palm. “Nice to meet you, Lexa. I’m Clarke.”

The brunette nods and Clarke thinks this is the end of their short conversation, but green eyes refuse to leave her.

“Did you miss your flight?”

Clarke can’t help the bitter laugh that bubbles out of her. “I wish.” At Lexa’s raised eyebrow, she heaves a sigh, gaze on her hands. “My friends cancelled on me as I was boarding the plane, so now… I have nowhere to be,” she completes with a shrug. When she looks up, Lexa’s eyes are sympathetic, but not pitying. “So what brings _you_ to the airport on Christmas Eve?”

The corner of Lexa’s lips curls into a rueful smile. “You have nowhere to be, whereas I… have nowhere I want to be.”

“Couple of screw ups we are, right?” Clarke chuckles dryly.

“Speak for yourself,” Lexa quips, lightly nudging Clarke’s shoulder with her own. Several moments of silence pass before the brunette, brow furrowed and voice hesitant, breaks it in the most surprising of ways. “Would you, perhaps, want to spend Christmas Eve together?”

In all honesty, Clarke knows she should say no. A total stranger asking her to spend Christmas Eve together is not only ludicrous — it’s also dangerous. Yet she feels an irresistible pull to this woman, who she has only just met but already feels a certain… fondness for. They say fate manifests itself in the most unexpected of ways. Clarke doesn’t believe it. Nonetheless, why not take a risk on Christmas Eve? It’s not like she has anywhere else to be.

“I don’t know,” she drawls playfully. “I still have to get myself the perfect Christmas present.”

Lexa raises an eyebrow and tilts her head (a signature move, Clarke realizes), clearly brimming with curiosity. “I can’t figure out if you’re kidding or actually serious.”

Clarke laughs heartily, for what is the first time in possibly as long as a whole year. “I’m just messing with you.”

The stare with which Lexa fixes her, adorned with a pensive lopsided smile, lasts for perhaps a bit longer than normal. “I’ve got an offer for you.”

Clarke’s curiosity is piqued. “Oh yeah?” she incites with an easy, curious smile.

Lexa nods. “I will buy from you all the presents I suppose you bought for your friends, and you will use that money to get yourself the thing you want most this holiday; the perfect Christmas present.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Yes,” Lexa agrees with an elegant nod of her head. “I have missed crazy.”

“What about you?” Clarke questions, not really wishing to end their joint night with a business transaction. “Aren’t you getting anything for yourself?”

“I will be coming with you. Having fun for once in what feels like a lifetime is the best Christmas present I could ask for.”

Lexa stands up and at last Clarke notices the long coat covering the brunette’s slight form, with impeccable posture and a tailored business suit that speak of a powerful woman. Fun, however, is definitely not a word Clarke would think to describe her.

“Fine,” she concedes finally, throwing her hands up in defeat. “I still think it’s crazy, but if that’s what you want, then why not?” She stands up and starts counting on her fingers. “I got… A tool belt, the Denquin Series version of _Hermes: Guide of Souls_ , two matching Nintendo 3DS, a leather jacket, around 80 dollars, a Philips Norelco shaver,” she notices Lexa typing on her phone as she speaks, probably checking prices for everything she mentions, ”a botany dissection kit, a Bon Jovi poster (my friend is a big fan), and—“ she cuts herself off, half ashamed and half of the memories brought forth by the last one. “A Breitling Colt 41 Automatic.”

Lexa tucks her phone back in her pocket, then stays silent for a few thoughtful seconds. “That’s a total of approximately 3760 dollars.”

“Three thousand dollars of regret,” Clarke comments ruefully. “Are you still in?”

Lexa’s nod leaves no room for doubts. The taller woman reaches for her purse, sifting through it for, Clarke realizes when it comes to view, a wallet. Lexa fishes a scary amount of one hundred-dollar bills from it, then counts it at equally scary speed, and hands Clarke a few handfuls.

“That’s 3700 dollars,” Lexa says apologetically. “I have an idea: to make up for the missing 60 dollars, you can keep all the presents, except for one. I would very much like to have that watch,” she adds with a beautifully shy crooked smile.

Clarke is quick to excuse her, though. “Don’t be an idiot, 60 dollars won’t make a difference. You can have all the presents.”

“Clarke.” Lexa utters her name for the first time, and it’s like Clarke’s world shakes. Lexa says it in a unique way, like it’s sacred, and Clarke feels like her name never sounded quite right until spoken by those full lips and soft voice. “I will give you the value equivalent to the gifts you bought for your friends,” the brunette whispers. Clarke realizes, then, that in her haste to stand, she placed herself maybe needlessly close to Lexa; green eyes stare intensely into hers. “You will buy the present you have always dreamed of. And if it happens to exceed the three thousand dollars we agreed on, then I will give you more — and more, and more, until you can have the thing you want most in the world.”

Clarke can’t help feeling a bit flustered at their proximity and the quiet yet passionate tone of Lexa’s voice. “What if—“ She has to clear her throat to keep from croaking out the words. “What if it costs less than the three thousand dollars?”

“Then you can keep the money and save it for another occasion,” Lexa states, like it’s so simple; the most obvious thing in the world. Like giving a stranger 3700 dollars out of the blue is something she does every day.

Clarke heaves a sigh, relinquishing the fight. If there ever was one. “Fine.” Then something pops up in her mind. “It’s Christmas Eve. All stores are closed.”

Lexa looks at her watch, an old thing that starkly contrasts against her note-perfect, modern businesswoman style. It’s in perfect condition, though, and Clarke can see that Lexa values her ageing timepiece immensely. “It’s nearly noon. We have twelve hours left till eleven, which leaves us with more than enough time to look for the perfect Christmas present.”

“Didn’t you hear what I just said? The stores are all closed,” Clarke insists with aggravation. “This plan was a failure from the start.”

“Not really,” Lexa surprises her with the ghost of a smirk. “For one night only, the nearest Polis will be open just for you.” Clarke’s expression must be of utter puzzlement, because Lexa adds, with yet another tiny smirk: “I have my resources.”

Clarke knows she will agree to Lexa’s crazy idea, and that worries her. The issue is not that she doesn’t trust Lexa; the issue is that Clarke already trusts her. After just over a half hour. How is that even possible? Clarke is one to believe that everyone has a good side, but not one to blindly trust or follow. Yet that is exactly what she is worryingly ready to do with Lexa, no questions asked. Well, Lexa _has_ just handed her almost four thousand dollars, no question asked either.

Maybe it’s a weird case of instant mutual trust. Maybe there’s really nothing to worry about, because anyone trusting enough to give her four thousand dollars with no hesitation deserves a little trust placed in them too.

“All right,” Clarke relents, all her defenses long perished. “Take me to Polis.”

 

****

 

Clarke is all but bewildered when Lexa pulls a key out of her pocket and inserts it in the locker binding the double doors together. Her befuddlement grows even further when Lexa enters the building and turns to her right, all memory and familiarity, and punches a four-number code (that Clarke tries her best not to see; 0214) into the alarm and saunters up to the switch to turn the lights on.

Once the place is drowned in light and the air is soothed by classic Sinatra Christmas songs, as though it was the middle of the day and the usual hundreds and thousands of clients were filing in, ready for their last-minute Christmas shopping, Clarke turns to Lexa, blue eyes bulging out from their sockets. “You have the key and alarm code to this place?”

Lexa smirks, that endearing little lopsided thing Clarke already adores. “It would be worrying if I didn’t, seeing as I own the place.”

If her eyes didn’t fall off before, Clarke is sure they have now. “You own Polis New York?!”

“I own Polis,” Lexa corrects simply, solemnly, and it becomes immediately clear that, although she is not one to advertise it, this mean a lot to her. “Alexandra Polisova, at your service.”

Okay, _now_ Clarke’s eyes have definitely fallen off. “You’re— Fuck— I— Wow.” Lexa nods, but it’s strained, and her pursed lips denote clear discomfort. “Just to be clear,” Clarke adds, a softness to her voice she can’t seem to avoid when it comes to Lexa, “it doesn’t change anything.”

The tiny, tiny smile that pulls out of Lexa soothes the pain of the whole year. Clarke needs more of those; she’s sure Lexa can smile all her pain away.

“You’re Russian, right?” she asks, if anything to steer the subject away from the healing power of Lexa’s lips.

“Czech.”

“European people are hot,” Clarke muses, half unaware of her own words.

“Americans are hot.”

“I guess we all want what we can’t have,” she shrugs. The unintentional truth of her statement hits her then, and the heaviness of the past year comes seeping back.

“Not tonight,” Lexa reminds her, and there it is — the unbridled joy and comfort that threaten to take over Clarke’s whole body. Lexa is dangerous to be around. She wants nothing more than to keep bathing in the exhilaration of it.

“Ah, yes. The thing I want most this holiday,” Clarke grins, unable to keep this elated feeling at bay. “I have no idea what it is.”

“Sometimes you don’t know until you find it.”

 

* * *

 

**1 PM**

Lexa has no idea of two very specific things: one, what came over her; two, what is currently coming over her. All she really knows is that watching this perfect stranger try on a plethora of clothes, each combination more eccentric than the other, makes her feel lighter than she has felt in years.

Lexa can’t help a dopey smile from forming every time Clarke laughs or smiles or so much as stands before her, radiant beauty and colorful personality wrapping her up in an embrace of pure delight.

If Lexa were a poet or a fool, either of which she is not, she would say that Clarke is every color of the rainbow. All at once, each at a time.

She’s red: passion, fire, and strength Lexa has known to be present in only a select few. She’s orange: all sunshine and creativity, able to make those around her (read Lexa) feel braver. She’s yellow: despite all setbacks, fiercely determined to be happy.

She’s green: each time their eyes meet, Lexa feels like she’s found her fresh start. She’s blue: a lingering sadness tingeing her every smile. She’s indigo: wildly perceptive, dangerously intuitive to every feeling that colors Lexa’s eyes.

She’s violet: her smile makes Lexa dream, a touch keeps her grounded; Lexa sees a future and it terrifies her, but the mere feeling of Clarke’s presence is enough to appease her.

Clarke is the bright sun to Lexa’s gloomy rain, and now that they have collided, all Lexa can see is a rainbow of possibilities. She really has no idea what has come over her. How can she be so unafraid?

Clarke steps out of the fitting room in yet another bizarre ensemble and Lexa is helpless to keep laughter at bay.

“So, what do you say?” Clarke asks as she spins, giving Lexa the full, 360-degree view of what she can only describe as the unspeakable.

Lexa swallows her umpteenth smile of the afternoon. “I think if you don’t buy it yourself, I will have to do it for you. That polka dot hat with— are those feathers? — is absolutely priceless.”

“If it’s priceless, it can’t be bought.”

“Everything in this world can be bought,” Lexa states, experience speaking for her. “Even people’s souls.”

Clarke frowns for a fraction of a second. Lexa knows she’s opened a can of worms she’s not sure she wants to explore. Clarke steps closer, concern evident in her eyes. “Have you sold your soul?”

By now, they’re meager inches apart and speaking in hushed tones. It seems to be a habit for them. “I ran away before they could sell it for me.”

As silence falls over them, Clarke takes her hand — the third time that night, Lexa has counted, and still as exhilarating as the first — and leads them to the second floor.

 

* * *

 

**2 PM**

“You need to eat, Clarke.”

Lexa’s voice, with hint of aggravation, is both authoritative and soft. The tone of someone who is used to giving orders, though also the tone of someone who cares. It puzzles Clarke, to say the least.

(It also thrills her.)

“Yeah but not for free and especially not the food that’s supposed to be sold to people, who will actually pay for it.”

“Your company is payment enough.” And here it is. Lexa’s ridiculously tender one-liner that causes her knees to falter. It’s really not fair; how a single sentence can make her feel like her legs are made of jelly.

Lexa says it so unassumingly, so honestly, so gently. Like it’s a simple truth, like it has no weight at all. Like it doesn’t make Clarke’s stupid illogical heart beat a little bit faster.

“Fine,” she sighs heavily, offering conceding after little resistance. It’s hard to say no to Lexa when those green eyes speak so truly.

She steals a ready-made turkey sandwich for herself and tosses another at Lexa. “Turkey in Christmas, right?” Lexa’s only reply is a tiny smirk.

They eat in silence, leaning against the fruit stand, both too hungry for words. Not talking, however, is even more dangerous than the alternative, for every still second is filled with surreptitious glances and shy smiles.

“So I suppose you came from the Czech Republic?” Clarke asks around a piece of food.

Lexa only talks once she has swallowed. “Kind of. My father immigrated here with his parents, while my mother came with hers, albeit at separate times. I am Czech through inheritance, not birth.”

Clarke hums thoughtfully. “I am American, born and bred.”

Lexa turns to her, an eyebrow cocked with skepticism. “Unfortunately, I don’t think that can be concerned a quality anymore.”

“Don’t,” Clarke begs, knowing exactly what her companion is talking about. “Just don’t.”

Lexa raises her hands in surrender. “Anyway, how are you liking your Clarke and Lexa’s Day of Fun?”

“I’m just glad I’m the Joey in the equation,” Clarke laughs.

“Janice is a great character, Clarke,” Lexa complains, brow furrowed. “She was easily the highlight of every episode she starred in.”

“She was just a guest star.”

“Sometimes, guest stars steal the whole show.”

“You’re stealing mine,” Clarke winks, and is consequently delighted to see that Lexa is left at a loss for words. She reaches for Lexa’s hand and, as all the times before, it feels like lightning surging through fingers and all the way to her heart. “Come on, we have to check the toys section.”

She begins to pull Lexa in the right direction, but the brunette tugs her back.

“Wait.” Clarke turns back to face Lexa, who is gently holding a strawberry between long, slender fingers. Lexa cleans it on her shirt before holding it up to Clarke’s mouth. “Never forget your fruit.”

Clarke opens her mouth slowly and bares her teeth, before closing them around the strawberry, eyes constantly on those long fingers holding it. She bites off half of the red fruit, making sure — for what reason, she doesn’t know — to make her enjoyment fully noticeable by means of a needlessly filthy moan.

She doesn’t dare look up at Lexa’s eyes.

 

* * *

 

**3 PM**

“Come on Lexa, this is fun!”

“No, Clarke. I refuse to do it.”

“Lexa, please,” the blonde pleads from her ludicrous position. Clarke is sitting on a small ride on toy car, legs bent to her side and feet on the ground. Her body is way too big for the colorful toy, which must be targeted for five-year-old children — at most. By her side, another toy car, that one blue and green in contrast to Clarke’s red and yellow, remains invitingly empty.

Lexa folds her arms over her chest, maintaining her determinedly unyielding stance. “No.”

“Just one race. I’ll— I’ll tell you my deepest darkest secret,” Clarke proposes, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“As tempting as that sounds, my answer is still no.”

Clarke huffs in frustration, clearly realizing that nothing will make Lexa change her mind. “Fine, I’ll have fun on my own. Party pooper,” the blonde grumbles.

Using her legs and feet to move, Clarke rides on and brushes past Lexa. The brunette doesn’t expect what follows: as she rides by her, Clarke tugs on her pants and pulls them down roughly, leaving her in a compromising position.

With a yelp and a “Clarke!” Lexa tugs her pants back on and hops onto the second ride on toy car, chasing after the blonde, who is already several steps away.

Lexa is fast to catch Clarke, but for the following hour, the two get lost in childlike car races, stuffed animal wars, and a tag game through the maze of indoor and outdoor playhouses.

 

* * *

 

**4 PM**

Clarke stands with one leg in front of the other, an invisible lion in her hands, presenting it to the metaphorical sun and bowing subjects below.

“Too easy. The Lion King.” The blonde groans at being figured out after mere seconds again. “You are not a great player, Clarke. You keep choosing obvious movies and scenes.”

“I don’t watch a lot of movies,” Clarke confesses bashfully. Lexa steps closer, needing the blonde to feel the comfort of her nearness. “The ones with happy families make me jealous, those with broken ones hit too close to home. The Lion King… I used to love it so much. But since my dad died— well, you can imagine the rest.”

“I found refuge in movies,” Lexa provides with a hoarse mutter, not wanting Clarke to feel alone in her sharing. “My parents were simultaneously absent and overbearing.” She ponders her words very carefully. “They gave me no love, but always expected the very best from me. Friendships were forbidden, a distraction. No one ever wanted to hang out with the weird kid, anyway. I felt… lonely.”

Clarke takes her hand gently and leads her to the nearest sitting spot, a lime green lounge at the book section. They sit in silence, oddly close, yet considerably apart, just so that each other’s vulnerable presence doesn’t feel overwhelming.

Meanwhile, Clarke has relinquished her hand, the task certainly not a hard one, and she’s playing with her own fingers. Lexa will not speak first. She can’t, not now, maybe not ever. Especially since anything beyond now is strictly a dream in Lexa’s world — never a possibility.

As though cognizant to Lexa’s feelings and inner thoughts, Clarke breaks the silence before it can turn to ashes. “Six months ago, I started dating this guy. His name was Finn.” Lexa turns to Clarke, making sure to give the blonde her full attention at a time of such emotional vulnerability. “I met him through my best friend Raven, he was quick to try and seduce me, and I let myself fall for him. He was lovely and caring, a great guy; but it always bothered me that he wanted to keep our relationship a secret. That should have been a red flag. We hid our relationship from our friends, but behind their backs, we were happy. About a month ago, at a party, I drank a lot and decided to throw caution to the wind. It was Raven’s party and she’d announced that she would be bringing her secret boyfriend, whom she had kept under wraps for months. I felt inspired by her bravery.

“Well anyway, I was really, really drunk. All I could see was Finn and all I could think about was ‘fuck secrecy; I want to be able to be with him openly’,” Clarke explains. “Long story short, I pull him aside and start making out with him. Raven of all people finds us and—“ Clarke takes a deep breath in an attempt to keep her emotions in check. Naturally, Lexa has already figured out what happened, but she knows that the blonde needs to tell the whole story without interruptions. “I never— Looking back, it was pretty obvious, but… It honestly never occurred to me that my secret boyfriend was the same person as Raven’s secret boyfriend. So when she found us, Finn and I, in the middle of a completely drunken make-out session, he had the upper hand.”

Clarke doesn’t talk for almost a minute and Lexa figures that she needs a light push. “What happened next?”

“I was drunk,” Clarke starts by saying. “The whole night, she’d been holding hands with Finn and I didn’t notice, because I was too deep in my own world. So you can imagine what it looked like: jealous best friend tries to steal hot boyfriend and ruin best friend’s happiness. He was fast to blame me, saying I’d just come onto him out of nowhere — which, in retrospect, is technically true. I was completely confused, but still tried to tell Raven that he was my boyfriend. She wouldn’t listen. To be honest, I did look guilty. Our friends sided with her. I don’t blame them,” she quickly adds. “Raven’s had… Some shitty stuff happen to her and we’re all very protective of her. I’m actually glad they took her side; it would break her to be left alone.”

“It hurt you too,” Lexa argues with a frown.

“But it didn’t break me,” Clarke counters with a rueful smile. “Years of friendship lost because I was too stupid to… To read the signs, to remain sober at a party, to notice my best friend’s happiness.”

“I do not think you are to blame here, Clarke.”

The blonde just shrugs. “Maybe not. Doesn’t change the fact that I’m the one spending Christmas alone.”

Lexa covers Clarke’s hands with one of her own, before swallowing around the lump in her throat. Clarke looks up and she fixes stormy blue eyes with a meaningful stare. “You are not alone.”

 

* * *

 

**5 PM**

Clarke can’t believe what she’s seeing. The ball bounces from Lexa’s feet like it’s remotely controlled, each touch as precise as the next. It’s sexy. It’s really, really sexy.

Suddenly, Lexa kicks the ball higher, causing it to travel behind her and, just as Clarke thinks she’s finally going to miss a touch, Lexa does the impossible: she raises her foot behind her back and effortlessly sends the ball flying over herself like a rainbow with a beautiful heel touch.

Just as Lexa is about to continue her show, Clarke catches the ball mid-air. “No. Just no, okay? Stop. It’s not fair.”

Lexa is clearly taken aback by Clarke’s reaction. “What did I do wrong?” she asks, her voice laced with concern.

 _It’s too hot for my own good_ , Clarke thinks _._ “You’re too talented for your own good,” she teases instead.

“I played soccer in high school,” Lexa explains helplessly. “Did you do any sports?”

“Yeah. Sitting in class. It’s very strenuous exercise.”

Lexa’s lips pull into one of those infuriatingly adorable smirks and Clarke feels the need to change the subject before more damage to her sanity can be done.

“Who’s your favorite soccer player?” she asks as she walks along the aisles, brushing her fingers over jersey upon jersey, with Lexa on her tail.

“Ramona Bachmann in the women.”

“And the men?”

“I would rather not start a war,” Lexa quips.

“You can tell me, I probably won’t even know who he is.”

“It starts with a C and ends with an O,” Lexa reveals. “I am an apologist of hard work and fighting to be the best. There is always room for improvement and as a perfectionist, I work daily to push beyond my own limits.”

“Change for the better, huh?” Clarke asks, turning around and starting to walk backwards, just so she can see Lexa’s pretty face.

“Yes,” the brunette nods. “There is always a better version of ourselves.”

“You’re extremely competitive,” Clarke dares a guess. Lexa’s ghost of a smirk confirms her suspicions. “Your favorite player is that tall guy, right? With the abs and the gelled hair and the painted nails?”

“That one exactly.”

“Favorite sportsperson.”

“Simone Biles. Yours?”

“I happen to like the sight of Tom Brady,” Clarke grins devilishly. “But my favorite is Nicola Adams. Bisexual Olympic medalist, she was the first openly LGBT person to win a boxing gold. I’m a boxing fan and an out and proud bisexual woman, so she quickly became my hero.”

Clarke knows that her reveal is important. Not her favorite sportsperson, but the fact that she likes women. She has some inkling of what Lexa’s reaction will be, but she cannot know for sure. This is their make-or-break moment.

Friendship-wise, of course.

“As a lesbian—“

“Supporter?” Clarke jokes, too nervous for tact.

“No,” Lexa smiles fondly. “As a lesbian, I can relate to your attachment to Nicola Adams.”

Clarke can’t help the wide smile that takes over her face.

 

* * *

 

**6 PM**

Clarke leans in to sniff at her neck, several inches too close for comfort, and a nose accidentally brushes against the already goose bump-filled skin. Lexa has to repress a shiver.

“Hmm that perfume smells so good,” Clarke purrs as she pulls away. “Smell mine.”

Knowing she will either burst or do something very stupid if she comes any close to Clarke’s neck, Lexa grasps a delicate wrist instead and brings it to her nose, inhaling the sweet scent. “Exotic.”

There is an electricity in the air now that wasn’t there at the beginning of the day. She knows what caused it; the moment they both admitted to liking women, something changed between them. The light pull that was there before became stronger and now feels absolutely magnetic.

Lexa might combust at any moment.

Now every touch is delicious death and she finds herself glancing at Clarke’s lips more often than not. When not fleeting down to Clarke’s delectable lips, Lexa’s gaze is getting lost in breathtaking blue eyes. Such is Lexa’s predicament.

“Hey Lex,” Clarke calls and Lexa realizes she was so lost in her own thoughts, she didn’t even see the blonde walking away. She also realizes that her feeble heart can only take so much of hearing Clarke abbreviating her name. “I think I found the perfect Christmas present.”

Lexa turns immediately alert. For some reason, in her head sounds only a chorus of ‘no, no, no’. She’s not yet ready to part with Clarke.

When she gets to the blonde, she can’t help but laugh at what she finds. Clarke has uncapped a lipstick and drawn round glasses and an extravagant mustache on her own face.

Before she can react, Clarke reaches forward and draws a long, red line on Lexa’s face and then, when the brunette has accepted her fate, Clarke draws a second streak of bright red, therefore giving shape to a red cross over tan skin.

Their next stop is, logically, the ladies’ room.

 

* * *

 

**7 PM**

Lexa tugs at her hand, leading her towards one of the couches on display. They plop down heavily, enjoying its utter comfort.

They have taken, sometime during the previous hour, to walking hand in hand. Having Lexa’s hand in hers, their fingers interlaced, makes her feel safe. Grounded. Real.

Clarke fears the moment they will inevitably have to let go.

“I have never had a good relationship with my parents.” Clarke looks up, surprised that Lexa has decided to share. “They always demanded perfection from me, and I am far from that. If I brought home anything less than an A, father would forbid me from doing anything studying. Mother would feed me half my usual meals. I could not feel, I could not cry. I could not be a real person.

“At a certain point, I realized that the way they treated me was not… normal,” Lexa says, her voice calm and unwavering, though there is a slight taste of sadness in it. “I started to rebel. My grades and overall dedication to school never wavered, but I would bring friends home every once in a while. A screaming match would always follow. Things went awry, however, when I realized that my utter lack of interest in boys stemmed from the fact that such interest was solely focused on girls. Particularly one girl who turned out to reciprocate my feelings. I was the happiest I had ever been.” Lexa swallows and Clarke can see the hardest part is coming. “As you can imagine, being gay was not exactly in my parents’ parameters of perfection. One day they came home earlier than expected and caught us in a rather explicit situation. I never brought a friend home again.”

“I can’t even imagine what that must’ve been like,” Clarke admits, distraught for her companion.

“It was hard,” Lexa concedes, her jaw clenched tightly. “Nevertheless, my desire to please them always outweighed everything else, so I kept quiet and alone, too afraid of disappointing them again. And when they forced me to follow a business major in college, I also kept quiet. Heading to New York after college gave me the freedom to be myself without having to answer to my parents. Still, when they called and ordered or forbid me to do something, I kept quiet and complied.

“Polis is my baby,” Lexa continues, a hint of passion now coloring her voice. “It was my idea, my project, my creation; on top of that, it had my parents’ seal of approval. The dark side of this brilliant, beautiful moon is that it kept me under their control. So when they told me how to live my life, I kept quiet. Until today.”

“Until today?” Clarke echoes with a confused frown.

“I head back home every year for Christmas,” Lexa explains. “It’s a dreadful couple of days, filled with false cordiality and attachments. I hate going there,” Lexa confesses. Clarke is surprised when the brunette takes her hand, squeezing it with newfound zeal, and fervent green eyes pierce into hers. “You gave me an outing, Clarke, and I promise that it will not be in vain. I cannot change my seriousness and stoicism; it is who I am today. But I will no longer keep quiet. It’s about time I take command of my own life.”

 

* * *

**8 PM**

“We’re doing this crazy thing— it _is_ crazy, don’t try to deny it,” Clarke says seriously, before returning her gaze to the canvas in front of her, where jade eyes and pouty lips are taking form. “So we’re doing this crazy, fun, amazing thing. But we’re still probably the most serious people ever.”

Lexa is quick to quirk an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean like— yeah, okay, I’ve laughed and smiled and had fun — _so_ much fun — but then there’s these moments of silence when I feel like… I don’t know. Something lingers.”

“Having fun doesn’t make us fun people, Clarke.”

“Yes, that’s it!” the blonde exclaims, abruptly pointing the soaked brush at Lexa. The result is, inevitably, a beautiful face splattered with green paint. “Fuck, sorry!”

Clarke rushes to grab a handful of tissues and runs to the stool Lexa’s sat on. In her frenzy, she doesn’t think twice before starting to clean Lexa’s ever stoic face with the tissues — delicately, tenderly, faster at first, but gradually slower as parted plump lips come into view.

Her hands all but freeze when she sees the look in Lexa’s eyes: wide, awed, overwhelmed even. Like Clarke is a vision, and all Lexa wants is to drown in it, fall for it, hallucinate with it.

Clarke’s hand finds its way to the back of Lexa’s neck, fingers tangle in brown locks, and she pulls closer. A second later, Lexa’s lips are on hers.

So this is the oasis she has crossed the entire desert of her life for.

 

* * *

 

**9 PM**

The door crashes open, slamming against the wall behind it and closing of its own volition after the entangled bodies that have just crossed the threshold.

The journey to Clarke’s bedroom is quick and soon Lexa is lowering the blonde onto the bed. Clothes fly to the other side of the room in rapid succession until she’s hovering over Clarke, skin meeting skin, undergarments the only barrier between them.

Lexa claims Clarke’s lips in a searing kiss, their mouths moving with a familiarity she finds all at once intriguing, fascinating, and exhilarating. The blonde gasps when Lexa’s thigh pushes between her legs, providing the opening for the brunette’s tongue to explore her mouth.

Lexa’s lips find new territory ready to be charted in Clarke’s neck. There is not an inch of skin she leaves unattended, either with a kiss or a loving bite she readily soothes with gentle lips. She finds Clarke’s pulse point and sucks on it, drawing a gasp from the blonde.

“Wait.”

Lexa stops right away, drawing back to look into Clarke’s eyes, her expression filled with worry. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, no, no,” Clarke appeases her breathlessly. Delectable lips find hers and they get lost in a kiss that Clarke can only break intermittently to talk. “It’s just— I,” the blonde is cut off again, this time by her own moan. “I’m just wondering—” Lexa’s lips travel lower once again, eager to paint another galaxy on the skin of Clarke’s neck. A hand flies to the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair and tugging at it, encouraging her to go on. “I’m not sure if this— if this is right,” Clarke’s hand, however, must have a different opinion, for it holds Lexa’s head firmly attached to her neck. “It feels almost sinful, ’cause you know, with being a holy day for family and celebration and— and being pure and— and baby Jesus was born tonight—”

This time, she’s interrupted by a frustrated groan.

“What? It’s the trut—”

“Claaaarke,” Lexa whines, pulling up to meet the blonde’s dazed regard with pleading eyes. “This is really not the time for that.”

Clarke goes to argue, but clamps her mouth shut. She starts trembling after a second and when her mouth opens again, it’s to let out a large guffaw. Lexa can’t help but chuckle at the ridiculous of the situation as well, and before long, they’re both lost in a fit of laughter.

That is, until Clarke wraps her legs around Lexa’s waist and flips them around skillfully, now hovering on top. “You’re right,” she whispers sultrily under her breath, her voice husky and laced with desire. “This really is not the time for that.”

 

* * *

 

**10 PM**

Peaceful, sleeping Lexa is just as beautiful as every other Lexa, but there is weightlessness to her, free of burden and worries and pain, that makes her look a lot younger — makes her look her actual age.

Clarke traces every line of Lexa’s face with her index finger. The arcs of sculptured eyebrows, the slope of a nose, the fullness of a pair of lips, the hills of high cheeks, the curves of tiny ears, the angles of a sharp jaw, the rise and fall of an elegant chin.

As her finger traces the ridges of the column of Lexa’s throat, she feels the vibrations of a satisfied hum. Grinning and endeared, Clarke bows down to kiss beautiful lips that now draw a shy hint of a smile, and then still shut eyelids that flutter at her touch.

By now, her finger has reached Lexa’s collarbones and dances along one of the hills. “You’re beautiful.”

Lexa’s smile grows, still shy but no longer just a hint. Her eyes open at last and they shine with spellbinding softness and fondness at the sight of Clarke over her, blonde hair forming a curtain that separates them from the rest of the world.

“You’re mesmerizing.”

Clarke giggles — actually _giggles_ — and throws a leg over Lexa’s waist, effectively straddling her. Her hands come up to cradle the brunette’s face, thumbs brushing over chiseled cheekbones. “You’re a flatterer.”

Lexa’s lopsided smile turns into a lopsided smirk and tender green eyes shine in a way Clarke yearns to map on canvas. “Maybe.” She feels strong arms circle her waist and pull her closer to the naked body underneath. “But you deserve it. You deserve all the good that will happen from this day forward. You deserve all the love, old and new, you will receive to make up for the pointless, ruthless pain you’ve been inflicted.”

“We both deserve it.”

Lexa turns them over and Clarke finds herself looking up at cascading chestnut curls, fully smiling lips, and adoring yet contemplative viridian eyes. “Maybe we do.”

 

* * *

 

**11 PM**

Lexa is about to complain about the Christmas trash currently contaminating the screen when a hand slaps her arm repeatedly. “Not now, Lex, this is the scene where he pretends to be a mob boss to scare the bandits away!”

“This movie is ridiculous, Clarke. It’s completely unrealistic.”

“It’s not _meant_ to be realistic, Lexa,” Clarke retorts from where she’s cuddled up to the brunette. “It’s warmhearted Christmas fun, why can’t you just enjoy it?”

“I was not made to ‘just enjoy’ random things, Clarke,” Lexa snaps. “I will always rationalize, overthink, analyze, and be skeptical about everything. I will always be serious and underreact and ponder my every word and decision. I am not fun.”

One thing Lexa has learned about Clarke, however, is that she is not one to back down from a fight. So when the blonde jumps up from the couch and puts on her sternest expression, it’s nothing but expected.

“And I told you I’m not either! I was never the popular kid in school, I had one friend and our favorite playtime activity was playing chess!”

“I am not fun to be around,” Lexa ploughs on stubbornly. “You are. You are— You are a sun, Clarke. You’re thrilling and delightful and you make everyone around you feel alive. I’m just dull — I am so dull that I bore myself. Having fun and ‘just enjoying’ stuff is _not_ in my programming.”

“You had fun today,” Clarke mutters. “You enjoyed yourself. It was the most fun I’ve had in like a year.”

“That’s because I was with you!” Clarke makes her feel lighter, better, funnier. Maybe those qualities have always been in her; nevertheless, it’s still the blonde’s accomplishment, not hers. “Because you’re you.”

Clarke’s eyebrows knit together, thoughts loud and clear. Lexa wants to take the blonde’s hands and pull her back down onto the couch, but she knows she doesn’t have the right to do it.

She’s shocked, then, when Clarke deflates and sits down beside her, body turned to her. “I feel the same when I’m with you. I like that we have our quiet moments and we’re overall serious and pretty introverted people, but also that we have the most fun ever with each other. We don’t even have to be doing silly stuff for me to enjoy being with you. I think— just sitting by your side in silence? It’s more entertaining than everything I ever did with Finn.”

“It must have been a very boring relationship,” Lexa quips shyly, her lips pulling into a barely-there smirk.

“No.” Clarke wraps her arms around Lexa’s midsection and burrows into her with a pleased sight. “It just means I was really never meant to be with him.”

The true meaning behind those words is a can of worms Lexa chooses not to open.

 

* * *

 

**MIDNIGHT**

“And… This is it. It’s officially Christmas.”

“It feels weird,” Lexa admits. “Nothing changed, yet it feels different. Like we just crossed some kind of threshold.”

Clarke fears and loathes her next words. “We did. You’re officially free.”

“Free from what?” Lexa enquires, brow furrowed in adorable confusion.

“From me.”

Silence.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Merry— Merry Christmas, then.”

Clarke chuckles dryly at Lexa’s choice of words. “This feels like a repeat of my awkward phone call with Raven.”

“I would never abandon you like that,” Lexa hastens to say, her voice nonetheless small and strained. “This is not like that. This is— We are saying goodbye now so it can forever be a tempting ‘what if’ rather than a heartbreaking ‘almost’.”

“I’d rather try than keep wondering,” Clarke blurts out. She won’t take her words back. She can’t, for she would be lying.

Lexa remains impassive, though. “This way, tonight will remain in our memories as the most wonderful Christmas Eve instead of a reckless failed relationship. Better to cut the ties while they are weak enough.”

Something stirs in Clarke at the words and she looks up to stare at Lexa’s eyes, windows to a soul whose emotions refuse to be betrayed by the heedless whims of a maskless face. “What do you mean?” she asks, or rather croaks, needing to hear in Lexa’s voice what she can already see in those poignant eyes.

Lexa’s jaw clenches and Clarke can see her throat bob, keeping every emotion cautiously bottled inside. “You know what I mean.” Green eyes avoid her own, veering to the side; a much safer choice in their current quagmire.

“Better to run away now before we start falling,” Clarke completes for her, her chuckle dry and humorless. “Better be a coward than fail at being brave.”

“Would you take a chance on inexorable failure?” Lexa dares her; defiant and sure of her own reason. In turn, Clarke’s resolve starts to waver. How can she argue against Lexa’s logic?

Her silence is answer enough.

Lexa nods, more stoic than ever, hands clasped behind her back. “I will see myself out.”

As Lexa turns around, though, Clarke remembers a promise from earlier in the day. “Wait!”

She doesn’t wait to see if Lexa waited before heading to her room and retrieving a small box. When she returns to the hallway, she sighs in relief at realizing that Lexa didn’t leave her spot.

She hands the box to Lexa, who takes it almost bashfully. “Take this, it’s yours.”

“But Clarke—“

“No,” she interrupts. “This was our deal. I will give the rest of the presents to charity, but the watch is yours. I’m sure it will look better on you than him, anyway.”

Lexa nods gratefully and feels behind herself for the door handle. Upon grabbing it, she opens the door and waves one last time at Clarke, before walking out and pulling it shut.

It’s over.

Lexa is gone.

Clarke just stands there, unable to move or think about anything other than Lexa and the feel of her lips, her fingertips, and her skin. Lexa’s laughter, Lexa’s smile, Lexa’s frown; Lexa’s face when bliss washed over her and Clarke wanted to look nowhere else.

Lexa’s kindness, Lexa’s brightness, Lexa’s humor and Lexa’s seriousness. The masks she puts on every time things get hard, but lets go of when Clarke pleads her to with just a glance. Lexa’s reluctance to have fun, but also the way she relents and becomes the most fun person in the world.

The way that after merely 12 hours, Clarke is, despite herself, so tragically attached to Lexa already.

A knock on the door interrupts her thoughts and Clarke walks over to it, ready to dismiss the annoying children’s Christmas choirs that seem to welcome with great pleasure the thought of rubbing the fact that she’s alone on a night like this in her face.

The door swings open and Clarke freezes in her spot. It’s Lexa.

It’s Lexa looking lost, dejected, remorseful, but most of all heartbreakingly hopeful. And it’s Lexa that breaks the silence first.

“I said earlier today that sometimes you don’t know what you want until you find it,” she starts, expression hesitant though determined. “I was wrong. You don’t know until you lose it.” Lexa steps inside, entering Clarke’s still stunned bubble. “I left you for but a moment and— already I felt like I’d lost my whole world.”

Lexa takes Clarke’s bewildered, wide-eyed silence as an invitation to go on. Tentative hands come to hover over her hips, never daring touch them, and she doesn’t make a move to remove them.

“I know we have much to learn about ourselves and each other,” Lexa whispers, head bowed to meet her eyes. “I know we would be taking a chance on the unknown, which is really not my modus operandi. But when I’m with you, my usual certainties become doubts and what I often doubt becomes certain. The moment I stepped out of that door, I realized that the things I am sure about when I’m with you— each of them is a reason stronger than all my fears to risk this ‘what if’ becoming a measly ‘almost’… If there is even a chance at forever.”

Finally waking up from her trance, Clarke steps closer and cups Lexa’s cheeks, one hand travelling higher to rake through silky brown curls. “Are you sure?”

“It is said that only fools rush in,” Lexa smiles, her nose brushing against Clarke’s. “Call me a fool, then, but from the moment we met, deep down I knew we were meant to be together.”

Clarke rushes into a hug, arms circled tightly around Lexa’s neck. The brunette is quick to return the embrace, wrapping her own arms around Clarke’s middle. Both tighten their hold on the other, clutching with no intention of ever letting go.

After a few minutes, however, Clarke pulls back, eager to meet Lexa’s eyes. What she finds is a heaven of happiness, relief, and affection. She also finds a single tear sliding down beautiful cheekbones, which she quickly wipes away with her thumb.

“I didn’t find my perfect Christmas present at Polis,” she breathes out, fully aware that a wide grin has taken over her face.

“I’m sorry,” Lexa chuckles sloppily, choking on her own watery bliss. “I will take you to every store in New York and beyond until you find the thing you want most this holiday.”

“No need.” Clarke presses a kiss to Lexa’s lips, the simple contact a source of relief. “I already found you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! Sorry for any awful mistakes, this is, as always, unbeta'd. I know it's miserably late, but there are reasons — like a last minute change of plans and a consequent 8 thousand-words behemoth.
> 
> In case you're wondering: in my head, Raven & co. knock on Clarke's door the next day, asking for forgiveness, after having realised how idiotic they were to believe Finn instead of her. But I wanted to tell a Clexa-only story. If you want to have your own headcanons about it (e.g. the friends never come back to apologise), you're totally free to do it :)
> 
> Hope you had/are having a wonderful holiday and in case you don't celebrate it, I still hope you're having a wonderful build-up to kissing 2016's ass goodbye ;)


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